


His Dark Eyes

by Chimpy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bottom Carl Grimes, Boys Kissing, Coming of Age, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Gay Sex, High School Student Carl Grimes, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Loss of Virginity, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Oral Sex, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Post-Apocalypse, Riding, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sassy Carl Grimes, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Teacher Negan (Walking Dead), Teacher-Student Relationship, Teen Carl Grimes, Top Negan (Walking Dead), Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:19:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimpy/pseuds/Chimpy
Summary: Small and inconvenient conversations with Carl’s gym teacher gradually manifest into a forbidden fascination. Sexual tension, sinful desires, and a throbbing crush on the leather wearing man blossom.Soon enough, Negan’s dark eyes are all Carl can see.





	1. Gripping that pencil

**Author's Note:**

> Finally a Cegan fic. c: I've been wanting to write one for awhile, so here we are! I don't intend to make this one incredibly long, but it'll be a slow burn for sure. Please enjoy!

 

The high pitched squeaking of shoes echoed throughout the gym's busy interior. Kids were everywhere - slamming basketballs against the shiny wooden floor while hollering to one another, shoving and pushing playfully while laughing. Carl thought the gym had a natural aroma that resembled a blend of plastic and sweat, which was something he had grown familiar with over the time he had been held captive here. He found it to be unpleasant, obviously, but at least now he could withstand it.

Carl stood in the center of the gym and clenched the rough material of his basketball. It felt heavy in his hands, and something in his chest sank as he looked around. His classmates were shooting hoops. Not alone, of course, but in groups - little herds that were formed by the merciless and unrelenting social structure of high school. However, Carl was alone. He didn't associate himself with these herds. Unlike them, he knew better than to hide beneath expensive clothing and fake confidence. But, he still stood alone with the horrid feeling of anxiety clenching his gut.

Gym class was always like this. Carl always thought he might die just because the judgemental glares of his peers were boiling into him, and it was pathetic, really. He had once tried to just avoid it all by simply skipping gym class, but ultimately it had proven unsuccessful when his parents heard about it the next day. They weren't too happy about it, to say the least. So now, Carl knew he would always be stuck - stuck in this horrid hell called gym class.

With a sigh, Carl dribbled the ball against the floor with a lazy hand. He walked around in small circles, and simply kept to himself. Eyes held low, he was sure to distance himself from the rowdy bunch of kids who shot hoops just a few feet away from where he paced. They were yelling with big silly grins plastered upon their faces, and Carl grimaced. He couldn't relate to his classmates, which only added to the list of reasons why he chose solitude over their company. He twisted his lips. Well, he didn't choose to be alone, but he was comfortable with it.

Carl's eyes trailed off to another part of the gym and latched onto something - or rather someone - unexpected. Bouncing his ball a final time, Carl caught it in his hands and held it close to his chest. It was Coach Negan.

Arms crossed and dark eyes focused, Carl saw that the Coach was watching his much more worthy classmates shoot hoops. His face looked stern, however - almost angry in a sense. He wore dark, casual clothes and a whistle around his neck - something typical of gym teachers. He was clearly tall, and looked as if he was an unbreakable pillar by the way he stood with a powerful stance. Carl rolled his eyes.

Coach Negan was a terrible coach and an even worse teacher. He was unfiltered with his students, and swore constantly - much more than the average person, nevermind the average teacher. He was cocky, sarcastic, and seemed to lack the basic skills to actually be a decent teacher. But because of this, students actually seemed to flock to him. Perhaps it was because he wasn't the average teacher, and lead such a reckless and supposedly 'cool' lifestyle. Carl had heard stories of Negan talking with students about bars, alcohol, fights, you name it. One would think he would simply get fired for his inappropriate behaviour, but Carl knew there wasn't anyone else in this small, shitty town willing nor worthy to take the job. So, Negan was the high school's gym teacher and coach.

"Alrighty!" The sudden booming yet familiar vocals startled Carl, quickly followed by the short blow of a whistle. "Get into partners and start passing, I'll see which one of you are actually fuckin' good." Negan stood with his hands on his hips and spoke with a smug grin, Scattered chuckles sounded from the students in response.

Carl watched as his peers slowly came together to form pairs. Smiling and talking, they clung to one another while he stood alone with wide blue eyes and a basketball clenched to his chest. He despised partners, mainly because he never had one. And at times like this, he could admit, he wished he had at least one friend to save him from this miserable fate. He felt his chest deflate as a breath left him, and fiddled with the ball. Carl found himself looking over to Negan, who had appeared to be sitting on the bench close to the wall now. He wasn't really even watching the students, but rather staring down at a clipboard he had balanced upon his crossed knees. Gulping, he approached him.

"Um, Coach Negan?" He stood before Negan with twisted lips, the basketball wedged under his arm. He didn't want to be talking to this man.

Dark eyes peered up at him, followed by that familiar smirk. "Call me Negan."

Carl's gaze faltered. "Negan," He said his name with a painfully awkward expression, "I don't have a partner."

He watched as the man glanced past him to examine the scenery of paired students happily passing to one another. His grin vanished momentarily and a hum seemed to leave his lips. "Damn kid, you're right." Negan leaned back and met Carl's eyes once again. "Well shit, you can just sit this one out."

Carl was surprised - most teachers would simply shove the spare student into a pair of two to form a group of three. But then again, Negan wasn't most teachers, and Carl wasn't gonna question it. He was more than happy to simply watch.

He kept a fairly large distance between himself and the older man when he sat, and allowed his basketball to balanced upon his lap. He could feel Negan's eyes on him - most likely dark and sarcastic. Carl could sense his gaze stabbing his turned head. The familiar hand of anxiety twisted his organs into a dreadful knot, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He hated this situation. But, it was better than actually participating in the class, despite the intimidating coach who sat next to him. But eventually, Carl could see Negan's head turn back to the clipboard from the corner of his eye, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him.

Carl watched his classmates. They glided along the gym's polished floor with ease, tossing the basketballs to their partners with exceptional talent. They were amazing, truly. Unlike Carl, who had no interest in sports whatsoever, they actually had potential. However, Negan didn't seem remotely interested in his students. He wasn't focused on them, but rather his clipboard which he jotted down notes in. Carl sighed at that. What kind of teacher ignores his own students? Perhaps Negan was already familiar with their amazing capabilities.

Carl's eyes slowly slid downwards to watch Negan's hand grip the pencil. His fingers were slender, yet clearly calloused with years of work. Veins ran down the surface of his hand like small rivers, traveling up the length of his forearm. Carl saw that his arms were manly, to simply put it. It caused him to consider his own arms. His were visibly more pale, and not nearly as toned nor masculine as Negan's. He felt his chest sink at the fact. Well, Negan was a gym teacher afterall, and a terrible one at that.

"Okay," Carl damn near jumped out of his skin when Negan suddenly stood from the bench. "That's enough, now time for a fuckin' game!" Excited cheers and laughter rose from the students as Negan slowly strolled towards them with his clipboard snug beneath his arm. Carl watched from the bench as everyone gathered around him. He began to divide them into teams. Negan was much taller than the teens who surrounded him, and looked as if he was a slender rock rising from a sea of midgets. Carl noticed how he stood with his hips slightly forward. His shoulders were broad, too, and his lengthy arm gestured towards students effortlessly as he sent them into their designated groups. 

Definitely not your average teacher.

Before Carl knew it, Negan was returning and the game had begun. He quickly averted his gaze as the man took his seat with a low grunt, and could see him cross his long legs from the very corner of his eye. He was watching the game now, Carl noticed, and a deep focus was planted within his dark eyes. He was much more invested than before. Strange behaviour for such a shitty teacher, he thought, but eventually joined him in observing the game. But only moments after, Carl felt the familiar pressure of Negan's gaze land on him once again.

Why was he staring? Carl could feel the slick humidity of sweat rise from his palms. Was Carl doing something he shouldn't? Was he doing something wrong? His shoulders crumbled as he gripped his basketball. But soon enough, the overwhelming tension was lifted in an instant when a sudden question reached his ears.

"You never have a partner, do you?" Negan questioned. Carl hesitantly turned to face the older man only to be met by dark eyes staring back at him. It was almost as if the utter blackness of his eyes hid his true intentions, and kept his thoughts a mystery. Carl gulped.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

Negan rolled his eyes. "In gym, you never have a fuckin' partner," He gestured to the rest of the gym with an extended arm. "Why?"

Carl's blue eyes found the floor once again. He didn't expect this question, and it definitely wasn't something he had ever put deep thought into answering. "Just unlucky, I guess." He tried to shrug off the question.

"Mmm," He could hear the low mumble of Negan sound from beside him, and looked up to see him leaning back with lengthy arms acting as a cushion for the back of his head. "Sounds like bullshit."

Carl frowned. "It's not."

His chest jumped when the man suddenly leaned forwards, forearms balancing on his lap as he stared at Carl. Carl stared right back. Atleast, to the best of his ability. His pale eyes were no match for Negan’s dark ones.

"Is that so?" Negan's signature grin crept back to his lips. "Then why didn't you just make a group of three with someone if you were simply 'unlucky'? But no, you came crawling over here to me like a little girl who got a scratch." A low chuckle rolled from his lips, and Carl sighed and tore his eyes away. "Doesn't sound like god damn luck to me."

Carl scoffed. "What kind of teacher even are you, anyway?"

That only seemed to amused Negan even more, and Carl watched as the man slowly descended back from the corner of his eye to lean back once again. "The best goddamn teacher I can be, kid."

They were both watching the game now - or perhaps more like lazily allowing their eyes to linger on the scene. "I can clearly see that." Carl commented under his breath, and was rewarded by a low chuckle from Negan. And then, silence - overtaken by the sound of thomping sneakers and yelling from the game as Negan and Carl sat beside one another, awaiting the bell to dismiss them from this unexpected interaction.

And eventually, the bell did ring. 

Carl stood, and joined the sweaty herd of students to return his basketball to the equipment room. He had to shove his way through his peers to actually put his ball away, and was greeted by a grinning Negan highfiving and fistbumping students on their way out of the gym when he exited. Negan was definitely a popular teacher - something Carl couldn't understand considering his total and utter lack of talent when it came to actually teaching. He rolled his eyes, and was the last to trail out of the equipment room before being stopped by a solid hand gripping his shoulder.

He turned to see a towering Negan smirking down at him, and he could feel his gut tighten. "Hey, maybe next class you try to actually fuckin' participate?" Something in his hoarse voice told Carl he wasn't completely serious.

"I was just about to say the same thing to you." He frowned up at the older man, and watched as that mocking grin only grew wider.

"Damn, you got some goddamn balls on ya, kid." Negan remarked with a husky growl filled with amusement, and Carl grimaced. Yes, Coach Negan was unsurprisingly vulgar.

He shuffled his feet, and glanced around awkwardly for a brief moment. "Can I go now?" Carl sighed, and was sure to give the taller man an especially nasty glare from behind dark bangs.

A low breath left Negan. He pulled a look of shock that was clearly not genuine, mixed with an impressed expression. "Well," He leaned back, hips prodding slightly forwards as they usually did. "Of course, Mr. Grimes."

Carl's lips twisted up at Negan before he finally turned to take his leave without another word. He could feel his pace quicken as he neared the gym doors, and tensed when he heard that low chuckle sound from not far behind him.

"See ya tomorrow, kid." 

Carl managed to escape, and carried on with the rest of his dreadful day.

 

When he arrived home, he went straight to his room, like he usually did. Of course, he greeted his mother scrubbing kitchen counters when he passed, but other than that, he was sure to take a straight route to his safe haven.

Slinging his bag from his aching shoulder, Carl fell into his bed's loving arms and allowed a long, tired breath to evacuate his lungs. He felt small against his bed's fluffy sheets, small but safe - like a bunny laying in a lush grass field, left alone with just his thoughts. His bedroom was undoubtedly one of his favorite places in the world. It was somewhere he could unwind, and momentarily forget the burden of school, family, and non-existent friends he constantly carried upon his shoulders. It was his place, and nobody else's.

He stared up at the bleak white ceiling of his bedroom. His mother liked the house this way - white. Carl didn't favore it however, especially when the majority of the rooms wore the lifeless colour in misery. If it were up to Carl, he'd paint his room a dark blue - something much more vibrant than white.

Lids fluttering, he suddenly realized how tired he was. The day had seemed shorter than usual, but it was still utterly draining nonetheless. He had roamed the hallways like a mindless zombie in a haze, and simply stared blankly into space anytime he was forced into a desk. It was his everyday routine, and he had learned to accept it.

Carl rolled to his side and drug his knees up to his chest. There was one thing, however, that was out of the ordinary. His mind drifted back to the gleaming polish of the gym's floor, the constant squeaking of shoes against it, and the competitive hollars of students who battled for the ball. He envisioned the bench, and along with the bench, he imaged Negan's rugged hand gripping that pencil. 

Yes, the encounter he had had with the gym teacher was indeed out of the ordinary. Despite already knowing he was a strange teacher to begin with, Carl was still taken back by the way he shamelessly cursed in front of his students - more importantly, how he cursed in front of him. Though, he found that it didn't actually vex him. Thinking back to it, perhaps it made Carl actually feel more mature, knowing Negan didn't see him as a mere child unable to handle a few cuss words, but rather a teenage boy. He felt a bubble of pride in his chest.

Curling tighter into a ball, Carl felt the familiar hand of sleep ease his body into a relaxed state. He could sense his mind slowly slipping in and out of reality, and before he could even process what was happening, his mind had gone blank and his body had grown limp, and he was in a dead sleep.

  
  



	2. Upon his shoulder

 

The next morning - breakfast.

It was silent other than the sound of quiet chewing and clanging silverware. Carl kept his eyes steady on his plate as he lazily shoveled spoonfuls of perfectly cooked pancakes into his mouth. They tasted delicious, and the syrup's thick sweetness lingered after every swallow, filling his chest with warmth. It was rather bright this morning, Carl could see. Streams of glowing sunlight poured in through the windows, and a square patch was casted directly upon the table's cluttered surface. The pale colour of the walls against the light only made the kitchen seem brighter, and Carl could admit it was pleasant. However, he knew all too well  he was going to have to drag himself to school - a much less pleasant place - in mere minutes after he'd finish eating.

Carl's mother, Lori, sat across from him. Properly and efficiently she cut into her pancakes before biting into them, humming as she chewed. Carl peered over to Rick, who sat at the very end of the table. He was reading a newspaper while a mug of steaming coffee hovered before his mouth, unmoving. Leaning back in his chair, Rick looked utterly invested in whatever he was reading. Carl knew his father often searched the newspaper aimlessly in the morning.

Lastly, to his right, little Judith sat beside him. She seemed just as bright as the sunlight itself, and the permanent smile that inhabited her soft features beamed up at him. With that messy blonde hair and rosy cheeks, Carl couldn't help but smile back.

"Ah," Carl turned to see his father stand from the stable and hold out his forearm to peer down at the silver watch he always wore."I gotta head out."

Lori straightened up and looked at Rick. "Oh, have a good day." She said with a wide smile and fluttering lashes.

Rick nodded towards her, returning the smile but with closed lips. Before departing, he took special care when pressing a gentle kiss to Judith's soft scalp. The kitchen quickly returned to casual silence after he left, and Carl glanced down at his pancakes. He hadn't eaten much. He never had much of an appetite in the morning, anyway.

"I'm gonna go too." Carl said as he rose from his seat after a brief silence. He looked to his mother, and saw a rattled expression upon her pampered features.

"So soon?" She questioned, obvious desperation in her voice. "Why don't you stay longer?" She tried for a smile.

Carl felt his shoulders shrug absentmindedly. "I like getting to school early," He felt his heart sting at his mother's yearning gaze. "you know that."

She looked down at her plate. "Yeah, I know."

Carl frowned, then moved towards his mother. He placed a hand upon her silky hair before planting a quick kiss on her scalp - just like his father had done with Judith. "Bye."

To Carl's pleasure, that seemed to make his mother feel somewhat better, and she gave him a big smile along with a brief wave as he departed from the table. He made sure to send a small wave in Judith's direction as well, which earned him an innocent giggle. He slung his bag over his shoulder, and then left to attend the miserable hell called school.

 

As expected, the first few classes were a living nightmare. Sitting in class was dull, bleak, and lifeless, and Carl swore he damn near tore his hair out. His peers, on the other hand, were even worse. Clinging to one another while constantly talking and smiling, it caused Carl to simply turn his head in the opposite direction. He found his classmates to be vexing. They were always loud, and always in herds - as if they might not be able to stand if they were on their own. Carl saw them as mere nuisances as he strolled through the hallways utterly and completely alone. He hadn't even needed to open his mouth, until gym eventually rolled around.

Gym class was always right before lunch, so students were rowdy and playful when entering the gymnasium, eager for the promise of activity. Carl however, being the last to trickle in behind his peers, was anxious. Gym alone gave him unbearable anxiety, but something - or rather someone - who hovered just over the looming horizon awaited him.

Coach Negan stood at the very end of the gym, near the bench Carl and him had sat at yesterday. He was leaning against the white painted brick of the gym wall with crossed arms and a mocking grin dancing across his salt and pepper facial hair. Those dark eyes were locked onto Carl like a wolf catching sight of its prey, unrelenting and deep. Shit. Negan's smirk grew. He had been awaiting Carl's arrival. The way he so casually crossed his ankles made it clear to him that he had pursued the position on purpose, and had been simply waiting. Carl gulped.

Glancing over, he saw that the rest of his peers were already running around with basketballs, thumping them against the gym's wooden floor and aimlessly shooting hoops. Nowhere to escape. He looked back to Negan and watched as the man gestured towards him, beckoning him over with a single, lengthy finger.

Carl let out a shaky breath. But after a moment of nervous hesitance, he eventually felt his body obey Negan's command. His legs felt weak beneath him as he cautiously crept towards the man with his gaze held low at his feet. He could already feel that towering stature and bold presence inching closer.

Coming to a stop, he kept his fists clenched in tight balls at his side, sweat already inhabiting them. "Yes..?" He had to crank his head upwards just to meet the older man's gaze.

Negan smirked before uncrossing his arms. "I didn't think you'd be back, kid." He sneered down at Carl.

Carl somehow managed a scoff. "Why's that?"

"Well, I thought I fuckin' scared you off." He grinned. A low chuckle rolled from his tongue.

"You didn't." Carl striked back. He frowned up at him with squinted eyes, but was only granted an amused breath in return.

He watched as Negan cocked his head slightly to the right. "I was right," He suddenly said, and Carl was confused for a moment. "You aren't a little bitch afterall." He smirked, and Carl blinked.

"No, I'm not." The teen spat. Who did this man think he was? What was he trying to do? Carl felt skeptical, offended, and anxious all at the same time, but managed to scowl up at the coach.

Negan looked impressed. "I know."

With that, Carl just stood - confused and with wide eyes, not knowing what to do. Negan, he had come to realize, was unlike anyone he'd ever met. Of course, he already knew that. But ever since the subtle increase in conversations between the two, Carl has grown to understand the limitless depth of the man's bluntness and outward sarcasm.

"Hey," Negan's voice drug him from his anxiety, "You still gonna sit out this class, or what?" The question was straightforward and held a somewhat serious tone, though Carl still held a skeptical gaze.

He glanced towards the other students. They majority of them were in the gym's center - shooting hoops, laughing, and playfully chasing one another around the vast space. They looked happy, but Carl wasn't welcomed in that world. He avoided that world, so he sighed, and turned back to the tall man before him.

"Yeah." Carl said quietly, and glanced up to meet Negan's gaze.

Silence, then a low chuckle. "Alright, kid."

He watched with wide eyes as Negan stepped aside, gesturing towards the bench. Carl glanced up at the man skeptically, only to be met with a shockingly neutral expression. He crept over to the bench, and took a seat. He saw Negan retreat to start the class with a single blow of his whistle. Slumping back, Carl sighed.

Weird. Negan had been strangely okay with the idea of Carl not participating. Did he feel sorry for him? Or perhaps this was all just some sort of horrid prank, and Negan was just messing with him. He squinted towards the man.

Negan was surrounded by students, explaining something uninteresting to Carl. His voice was deep and loud as he talked amongst the crowd of sweaty teens, hands perched upon his slender hips. His voice always held a booming ruggedness that Carl found somewhat.. different, to put it simply. None of his male peers possessed such a bold, masculine voice, and nor did he. Not even his father had such a voice. He found himself focusing on Negan's lips, and nothing else.

The sudden whistle startled Carl. He fluttered his eyes and refocused on the situation before him - groups of ready students huddled in the gym's center, and a long, muscular hand was holding a basketball far above their heads. Negan's lips were curled around his whistle as he balanced the ball. And after another brief whistle, he allowed the ball to fall. Students sprung into action, and Carl realized he had witnessed the beginning of yet another basketball game.

Yelling students waving their arms and dashing viciously around the court tossed the ball among themselves flawlessly, almost as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times. However, despite the display of talent, Carl eyes were focused on the slow approaching Negan. Whistle hanging loosely around his neck once again, the man strolled over with long strides. Carl saw that his gaze was focused somewhere on the floor as he walked.

Carl's eyes dropped when Negan sat down beside him with a grunt. The man held his clipboard in a single hand, and was lazily focused on the game with dark eyes. He looked tired, but the corners of his mouth were still upturned in a smirk, and Carl quietly sighed. It was as if that grin was permanent - unable to fade from the man's face.

"So," Carl froze when Negan suddenly turned to him, "This kinda shit really doesn't interest you, does it?" He watched as the man gestured towards the basketball game.

The teen managed a shrugged. "No, not really."

"Why not?"

Carl peered over at the game, watching with scrunched features as his peers glided across the gym's floor. Then, he looked back to Negan's prodding gaze. "I don't know. I guess it's just something I never liked."

Negan laughed at that. "What kinda fuckin' teenager doesn't like sports?" He looked down at Carl with a mocking grin, and tilted his head slightly back in an amused manner.

Carl scowled. "I don't like sports." He spat toward the older man, "Maybe if you'd actually take the time to get to know your students, you'd know were not all clones."

To Carl's dismay, Negan actually seemed impressed and amused by his words. A low chuckle rumbled from him, slow and hoarse until it eventually faded into silence. "Damn kid, that hurt." He grinned, sarcasm woven into his words.

Carl looked away and refused to meet the man's lingering gaze. "Whatever." He struggled to keep his focus on the game, though he could still feel Negan's dark eyes on the side of his face.

The man once again chuckled at that. "Seriously kid," he continued, and Carl could see him lean back and shift his gaze to watch the game as well. "You're the most badass kid in here."

He turned his head slightly towards Negan, but kept his eyes trained on his peers. "Really?" He questioned quietly.

Negan scoffed. "Fuck yeah, you are."

Students yelled as they passed the ball across the court, obviously enjoying the competition amongst one another. But unlike them, Carl found his mind wandering elsewhere.

Negan had called him a badass. But Carl wasn't a badass. Rather the complete opposite. He wasn't popular, didn't have good marks, nor had any actual people around to call his friends. So, he definitely wasn't a badass. But for some strange reason, the man who sat beside him thought he was.

Carl shifted, and tucked his sweaty palms beneath his thighs.

 

Before he knew it, class was over and kids were swarming to put their balls away. They trickled out of the gym to go change, leaving Carl to leave last. However, Negan wouldn't let him leave so easily.

"Hey," A familiar voice called out to him. Carl turned to see the man approaching him at the gym's entrance. "Do you plan on fuckin' participating tomorrow?" Negan asked with a teasing chuckle.

The teen sighed and glanced to the open gym doors. He was so close to freedom, why couldn't Negan just let him go?

Carl shrugged. "I dunno."

Negan scoffed. "Well you better figure it out, kid. Ya know I'm not gonna let you fucking sit out every time." His voice was deep as he spoke, and reminded Carl of thunder.

"Yeah, I know." The boy sighed as he kicked awkwardly at air.

Of course Negan wouldn't let him sit out every time. Despite being completely inappropriate and utterly vulgar, the man was still a teacher, and still had a job to do.

Carl could hear him sigh from above. "I might have to tell your parents about this." His voice came out as a whisper when he said it, and caused the teen to freeze.

His parents? Carl's parents couldn't know about this. They were already hammering down on him for not having better grades. So if they found out that their son wasn't fully participating in gym - which was considered to be an easy class in their opinion - Carl would receive a serious punishment.

He fell silent for a long moment before coming up with an answer. "Then, I guess I'll participate tomorrow." He muttered in defeat.

A hoarse chuckle left the man and lingered for a long moment, and Carl felt a sudden weight upon his shoulder. "Good fucking choice, kid." Negan spoke to Carl with a beaming smirk, and the teen could feel his chest shrivel. "Trust me, I wouldn't want my parents knowing about the fucked up shit I did back in highschool, either."

Upon his left shoulder, a rugged, tanned hand gripped the fabric of his gym shirt. Carl recalled the time he had observed this hand grip a pencil, but how it was inches away from his face. His throat clenched, and the boy couldn't bring himself to meet the older man's penetrating gaze.

He shifted nervously beneath his touch. "Um, thank you Coach."

"I told you to call me Negan." Negan corrected.

"Ah, I mean Negan."

Carl could see the man's grin grow broader at that. "Well shit Carl, you are most certainly welcome."

Negan's hand didn't move until the bell rang, and Carl took the opportunity to finally flee from the gym.

"Hey, make sure you don't fucking skip out tomorrow, kid!" Carl could hear the man yell out as he left, but didn't look back as he disappeared to into the changeroom to quickly change.

Once in the changeroom, Carl let out a shaky sigh.

 

Unlike yesterday, the rest of the day seemed to fly by. And soon enough, Carl was home enjoying dinner with his family.

The family ate juicy steak in the dining room as light conversation drifted through the air, the muffled sound of the t.v quietly occupying the background. The food, as usual, was delicious, and Carl gobbled it down happily.

"So," The teen's attention was caught by his mother's voice. "How was your day?"

He gave a slight shrug, and jabbed his fork into a slice of steak. "Fine."

Rick's voice sounded from the tabel's end. "Nothing interesting happen?" He asked.

Carl shifted in his seat. "Nope."

Lori cut neatly into her steak before popping a bite into her mouth. Meanwhile, Rick resumed peering down at the pale surface of his newspaper. At Carl's side was Judith. Unlike the rest of the family, the youngest member preferred apple sauce over steak, and tended to get a little messy when eating it.

After Carl was finished, he retreated to his room.

He plopped down on his glorious bed with a sigh and stared up at the bleak ceiling with an aimless gaze. Images of the day flashed through his mind as he recalled the things he'd learned. Well, the word 'learned' was an overstatement. Carl never actually learned much in school, only useless junk that never helped with everyday life.

Eventually, his thoughts trailed back to his time spent in the gym that day. He could recall the constant dribbling of basketballs, the yelling of students, and the booming voice of Negan. Suddenly, his shoulder felt weightless as he thought back to the pressure of the man's hand he had once felt.

Carl sat up, and peered over at his wooden dresser which stood in the corner. He had a yearbook. Standing, he made his way over and slid open the bottom drawer, the cover of last year's yearbook gleaming up at him as he held it in his hands. He opened it with care, as if he was doing something he wasn't supposed to.

He didn't think much of it at the time, but Carl could recall seeing the blurred image of a smiling Negan within the yearbook's fresh pages. The boy quietly lowered himself to the carpeted floor as he began flipping through, noting how it felt slippery beneath his fingertips as he paused briefly to scan each page. Faces of vaguely familiar students blurred past, though not what he was searching for. Finally, he reached the section of the book which was titled 'Athletics'.

Scattered throughout the page were skillfully taken images of students in sports gear mid-game, as well as the occasional posed team photo which Negan sometimes happened to make an appearance in. Carl found himself studying one picture in particular - an outdoor team picture with grinning kids lined up neatly, featuring a towering Negan in the very corner with a beaming smile plastered upon his rugged face. He looked proud, Carl thought, and the smile he wore wasn't a sarcastic one. He swept his thumb over the man's face and let out a quiet breath.

It was unusual seeing Negan like this, and Carl couldn't help but feel as if he'd been betrayed in some way. Why didn't the man send genuine smiles in the teen's direction instead of sarcastic ones? Was his vulgar, blunt demeanor only a facade? The man in this picture didn't remotely resemble the person Carl knew as Negan.

Staring at the blurred image of Negan's face a little longer, he sighed and his shoulders fell. Perhaps he was just simply smiling for the photo?

With a realization of how ridiculous his anxieties were, Carl gave his head a frustrated shake before stuffing the yearbook back into his dresser's bottom drawer and dragging himself back to his bed. He tugged off his shirt and pants and just slept in his boxers, allowing his brain to prepare for the torture called highschool that would await him tomorrow.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! 2nd chapter!!  
> I apologize this took so long to finally finish, but I've been fairly busy as of late. The comments everyone had left me on the first chapter motivated me to sit down and give you guys this chapter!!  
> I still intend to progress this story forward, so no matter how long I take to write new chapters I'm always thinking of this story.  
> Thank you all<3

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are greatly appreciated, as I love to hear feedback! Thank you so so much for reading!<3


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